Funky Crane
by Kineil D. Wicks
Summary: How do you stop a Crane from sulking? And what exactly is a record player?


**A little something inspired by one of my playlists….My Mom is a fan of the song "The Pied Piper" by Crispin St. Peter, and when looking it up, I was reminded of the episode featuring the Pied Piper in _Sleepy Hollow._ And then I remembered the Sandman, and then I wondered how Abbie and Ichy handled such songs, and it went from there.**

**Sleepy Hollow © 2013 Alex Kurtzman; Roberto Orci**

It had been a few weeks since Abbie's unintentional time trip, and things had not quite gotten back to normal.

Crane was still in a funk, sulking about Corbin's cabin. Understandable. The whole thing with Katrina was a mess. Couple that with Henry, and the Cranes were the very definition of a dysfunctional family.

"Why do they say it like that?" Abbie asked, frowning slightly.

"Say it like what?" Crane asked, glancing up.

"People call families with issues 'dysfunctional families,' but I can't think of any families that _weren't_ at one point or another—I mean, even the Cunninghams on _Happy Days_ were dysfunctional: the oldest brother went up the steps and never came back down."

"I find it somewhat refreshing that we've known each other for this long, and yet you still say things that I do _not_ understand."

"Where did I lose you this time?"

"Cunning-hams?"

"_Happy Days_—Corbin used to watch it. He had stacks of oldies that he'd play on his record player."

"You've done it again," Crane groused. "What on earth is a 'record player'?"

Abbie couldn't help but laugh. "Funny thing is, _I_ asked him that question when he first mentioned it. And _then_ he had to explain 8-tracks to me—"

"I don't know what that is either."

"I tell you what," she said, looking around. "I bet those old records are around here somewhere—let's find them."

* * *

A half-hour's search turned them up, hidden in a closet.

"Here they are—Corbin's classics," Abbie announced, pulling the lid off the box.

"Ah, so he enjoyed Mozart?" Crane asked.

"Only when he was feeling pensive. Here—the Chordettes, the Temptations, Crispin St. Peter, Chuck Barry, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons—"

"I've never heard of any of them."

"Well, they're from the fifties."

"The nineteen-fifties?"

"Yes…."

"And how does that make them classic?"

"I forget you're older than these."

"I suppose relative to you they're classic."

"Let's play a few," Abbie suggested. "You'll like them."

She handed a stack to Crane. "Pick one," she commanded.

He started sorting through them. "I…don't know what this is."

Abbie looked—the J. Geils Band. "I think that's one of mine." She looked through her own stack. "How about 'Mr. Sandman'?"

"After dealing with that creature?"

Abbie remembered the monster that had pursued her in her dreams. "Good point—scratch that one," she declared, tossing the record on the couch. "Okay, how about 'the Pied Piper'?"

"That's not much of an improvement—or have your ears healed faster than mine?"

"Okay then, not that….'Bad Moon Rising'—oh, come on, this is ridiculous. We can't have our entire playlist ruined because of our roles as Witnesses."

"Mozart is sounding very appealing right now, isn't it?"

"Har har. Come on—we're going to pick a song, and we're going to play it, and we're going to jam to it."

"So now we're making preservatives?"

"Jam is dancing."

"Are there any words in this time that still retain their original meaning?"

"You mean like 'awful intercourse'?"

"Your attempt at humor leaves something to be desired."

"And you're unintentionally funny at times."

"How so?"

"Remember your first experience with donuts?"

"And how was that funny?"

"It just was. Now where's that record player?"

* * *

Jenny arrived at the cabin to hear music playing.

A little confused, she shifted the take-out to her other hand and opened the door, pushing it open to see—

Abbie and Crane, dancing to music—or trying to.

"Oh come on, you call that dancing?" Abbie asked. "Look at you—you're way too stiff."

"And _you_ are much too loose," Crane returned. "That was _much_ too suggestive."

"No, Elvis' hips were much too suggestive. _This_ is modern dancing."

"There is that 'Elvis' fellow again—who is he?"

Jenny swung the door shut behind her, alerting them to her presence.

"So," she asked. "Would this be Crane getting out of his funk, or getting _into_ funk?"


End file.
